


Slow Show

by RabbitRunnah



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Graduation Kiss (Check Please!), Bad weather with convenient timing, Brief Mentions Of Past Relationships, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, It's 2020 but covid doesn't exist, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25618540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/pseuds/RabbitRunnah
Summary: Jack and Bitty have been best friends for years, and Jack can't lie, he’s thought about what it might be like to be more than friends. Once or twice, every so often, when the timing has been terrible. When a freak storm rolls in on the weekend of Jack’s 30th birthday, trapping them together in Jack’s beach house and leaving their friends stuck back in Boston, the timing might finally be right.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Past Bitty/other people, Past Jack/other people
Comments: 129
Kudos: 439
Collections: Jack Zimmermann Turns 30!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [Jack Zimmermann Turns 30](http://jackzimmermannturns30.tumblr.com) event. My prompt was “No graduation kiss, still BFFs.” Although the story jumps back and forth in time, Jack’s 30th birthday canonically takes place in August of 2020. Since this is already a canon-divergent AU, I’ve decided to pretend Covid-19 doesn’t exist in this universe. This fic will have an eventual M rating.
> 
> As a native West Coaster who has only lived on the West Coast and in the Midwest and only been to the East Coast for long weekends and short vacations, I had to guess at where Jack might keep a vacation home within a reasonable distance of his Providence base. I settled on the Connecticut coast, about a three hour (according to Google Maps) drive away from Providence. Although the outlet mall Jack and Bitty stop at on their way to Jack’s beach house does exist, I did take some liberties with the stores within. 
> 
> Title is from "Slow Show" by The National
> 
> This is a WIP, and will be complete by August 4.

**2015**

“Ahhhhhh!” Jack hears a scream, followed by thundering footsteps. Bitty, probably — Bitty is lighter on his feet than the rest of the guys, a gazelle as opposed to a herd of bison. He looks up from adding footnotes to his thesis just in time to prepare himself for the impact of Bitty throwing himself at him, sending Jack’s desk chair rolling into the wall.

“ _Jack_!” Bitty cries, eyes wild and expression somewhat manic.

“Bits,” Jack laughs, surprised by Bitty’s unexpected show of physicality. They’re friends now, Bitty can take a check and they even roughhouse the way Jack might with Shitty or Ransom, but it’s still a surprise when Bitty initiates. “What’s going on?”

“Oh my _lord_ , Jack, I can’t believe it.” Bitty slides off of Jack and thrusts his phone at him, but his hand is shaking so Jack can’t really make out what he’s supposed to be reading. “I just got an email from Professor Atley. Her cousin owns a bakery in Paris and is taking some time off this summer because she’s having a baby. She asked Professor Atley if she has any students who want to go over and help out with the bakery for the summer, and she recommended me! She said we can work out some sort of independent study so I can even get course credit!”

“Wow,” Jack says, brain scrambling to catch up with the rapid pace of Bitty’s words. “That’s amazing.”

“I _know_.” Bitty beams. “I’ll have to call the camp in Georgia, tell them I can’t counsel this year. And a passport! I need a passport! Do you think I have time to get one?”

Jack chuckles. “I’m sure you have time to get a passport. They have an expedited service if you really need it.”

“Paris, Jack! I’ve only been to the one in Epcot.”

“The real one is bigger.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “I have to call my parents. They’re gonna be so surprised.” He frowns. “I hope they won’t be too disappointed if I don’t go home for the summer.”

“You haven’t told your parents?” Jack asks.

“I just found out like two minutes ago! You’re literally the first person I’ve told.” Jack feels warmth bloom in his chest at that. He and Bitty have become good friends, maybe even best friends this year, but it’s still a bit of a surprise to learn he’s the first person Bitty wanted to share this news with. It’s a nice surprise.

“The only thing is…” Bitty suddenly looks uncertain. “I’d have to leave right after finals. I’ll miss seeing you boys graduate. I won’t get to say goodbye.”

“Oh.” That’s… Jack doesn’t know why his heart suddenly sinks. It would be selfish to expect Bitty to give up this opportunity just so he can be there to see him — him and _Shitty_ , Jack corrects himself — graduate. He swallows hard. “We’ll celebrate before you leave. I’m sure my parents will take a bunch of videos at graduation, if you really want to see it. And it’s not like it’s _goodbye_. We’ll be less than an hour apart next year.”

“But —”

“Seriously, Bits. How often do you get to spend the summer in Paris? By the time you get back I’ll be all set in my place in Providence and we can celebrate there. We can christen the oven.”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, you are not going to go an entire summer without using your oven. I forbid it!”

“Maybe for chicken tenders,” Jack concedes, earning himself a flick on the ear. “I’ll wait for you to make the first pie.”

“I like to think I’ve taught you well enough that you can do that on your own,” Bitty huffs, as if he expects Jack to bake pie for himself all the time. “But if you do decide to wait for me it’ll be your choice,” he promises. “Unless… Oh my gosh, I’ll probably learn so many new French techniques! By the time I get back I’ll practically be a professional!” He flings himself at Jack again, squeezing him in a tight hug. He tilts his face up toward Jack and...

Bittle’s absolutely ebullient, his whole face lit with joy. _I could kiss him_ , Jack thinks, and then, _I_ want _to kiss him_. But in the moment he makes up his mind Bitty spins out of his embrace and shouts, “I need to tell the others! And call Mama! Oh my gosh, Jack, I’m going to Paris!” and the moment is lost forever.

**2020**

Thirty is just a number to Jack. His birthday has never felt like a big deal, and this milestone is no exception. But in May Shitty sends a message to the group chat asking, “What are we doing for Jack’s 30th?” and Ransom and Holster send “Dirty 30!” at regular intervals until finally, hours later, Bitty asks the chat, “Should we have a party?”

“No,” is Jack’s immediate reply, but then Bitty suggests something quiet, maybe a weekend at the beach house, just the six of them.

“No surprises,” Bitty promises. “Just us.” Then, in a text to just Jack, “You know they’ll just plan a surprise party if you don’t agree to this now.”

So Jack relents because Bitty’s right: If he doesn’t agree to this now, it will only guarantee a more elaborate, likely larger, party than the one Bitty’s proposing. Which will undoubtedly mean more work for Bitty since Ransom and Holster still think planning a party means a last minute trip to Stop & Shop to fill a grocery cart with beer and spray cheese.

Now the big weekend is here. It’s just past noon and Jack’s waiting in his building’s parking garage when Bitty pulls into the spot next to his, the bed of his pickup truck loaded down with grocery bags and boxes and one impressively large ice chest. He cuts the gas, hangs the guest parking permit on his truck’s rearview mirror, and hops out.

“Jesus, you brought all of that for the weekend?” Jack grouses, nodding at Bitty’s cargo. “We’re just going to Connecticut. I’m pretty sure we’ll pass a grocery store.”

“But why should we?” Bitty asks with a coy smile, maneuvering around Jack to open the hatch of Jack’s SUV. Everybody else plans to get on the road after work today, but Jack and Bitty are driving up early so Jack can open up the house and Bitty can begin to do whatever he claims he needs to do to “feed all y’all for the weekend.”

Jack’s not complaining about this part of their weekend plans. It’s been a year and a half since Bitty moved out of Jack’s condo and into a place closer to his job, and though they said they’d still see each other all the time, it’s not quite the same as being roommates. Jack’s always busy during the season, and Bitty seems to be taking on more side projects even as he’s been given more responsibilities at his day job. Save for a recent dinner Bitty accompanied Jack to as his plus-one, it’s been weeks since they’ve really hung out together.

“I hope you don’t mind making a stop at that outlet mall in Clinton,” Bitty says as he hefts his well-worn ice chest out of the truck and hands it to Jack to transfer to the SUV. “I was going to bring some supplies but then I decided I should just buy some new ones to leave at the house. You didn’t have a citrus zester the last time I was there.”

“Do I need a citrus zester?” Jack asks. He has only the vaguest idea of what a citrus zester even is. “Or is this an excuse to go shopping?”

“You can also use it to grate hard cheese,” Bitty says, ignoring Jack’s chirp. “And we can pick up a pitcher for sangria, and some nice mixing bowls. I had to mix cookie dough in a pot the last time I was there. What good is having a best friend in the industry if you’re just gonna make cookie dough in a pot?”

“I should know better,” Jack says to placate him. Jack didn’t give much thought to kitchen supplies when he bought the place three summers ago, and while he’s spent a good chunk of each summer there, he’s been getting by with his spartanly stocked kitchen. He’s never needed a matching set of mixing bowls or a citrus zester or… “Sangria? Do we drink sangria now?”

“We do when we’re celebrating your 30th birthday on the beach,” Bitty says authoritatively. “Especially when the alternative is Shitty using the occasion to develop a new strain of tub juice. We’re getting too old for that boy’s alcoholic innovations,” he says darkly, no doubt remembering the last time Shitty “improved” the recipe.

“Fine,” Jack sighs, trying to sound put out but knowing Bitty sees right through him. “I’ll let you buy me discounted high end kitchenware because it makes you happy.”

Bitty’s smile is smug as he slams the hatch shut. “Knew you’d see it my way. You should let me drive,” he says, holding out his hand for the keys. “You work hard, you deserve to rest.”

“You worked this morning, and were probably up half the night getting all of this together,” Jack protests, knowing Bitty was up at 4:30 to get ready for work. But Bitty just stands in front of him, one hand on his hip and the other palm open, until Jack gives in and pulls the key out of his pocket.

“Thank you,” Bitty says sweetly, sliding past Jack and into the driver’s seat. He’s already adjusted the seat and is queueing up his playlist by the time Jack takes his seat beside him.

That Bitty loves driving came as a surprise to Jack, since Bitty didn’t have a car at Samwell. The old Chevy truck he drives, which is almost as old as he is, was a graduation present from the grandmother he calls “MooMaw.” It was his grandfather’s, apparently, and despite its age is in near-pristine condition. Jack think it’s cool. Bitty merely tolerates it. “Free is better than cheap,” he said the first time he showed it off to Jack, “and at least there’s plenty of room for all my stuff.” At the time, Bitty supplemented his income by selling his jams and preserves at the farmers market, and the truck was useful for hauling everything back and forth. Now Bitty can afford something else, but he seems reluctant to part with it. It seems to hold some sentimental value, a connection to Bitty’s family in Georgia. He talks about both the truck and his family with equal parts fondness and exasperation.

Bitty might reluctantly drive the truck, but he _loves_ driving Jack’s SUV, the fully loaded Audi he purchased after signing with the Falconers, and despite calling it a “soccer mom car” Bitty drives it like it’s a sportier, flashier model. Jack never imagined Bitty would be one of those drivers who constantly weaves in and out of traffic, always jockeying for the best position so he can go 20 miles above the speed limit, but his driving is smooth and confident and somehow he always avoids being pulled over for speeding. Ransom and Holster both drive like old women, Lardo forgets to use her blinkers, and Shitty has a bad habit of tailgating, so handing his keys over to Bitty is always the safest bet.

Jack is actually kind of relieved that Shitty ended up getting called into court this morning and decided to drive up with Lardo and the other guys after work tonight. Not that Jack doesn’t want to spend time with him, it’s just a completely different dynamic when Shitty and Bitty are in a car together. Louder, and with more stops to look at kitschy roadside attractions.

Jack resolves to stay awake for the duration of the drive but he did get up at five to run six miles before meeting Tater to lift, and he’s used to his afternoon nap. Bitty’s smooth driving and the mellow playlist he’s chosen conspire to lull Jack to sleep, and he’s out by the time they hit the freeway. He wakes an hour or so into the drive, feeling disoriented in the way he always does when he’s napped for too long. He grunts and sits up a little, rolls his shoulders and winces as his neck cracks.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Bitty says, taking his right hand off the wheel and giving Jack’s shoulder a little squeeze. He digs his thumb into the area that’s always just a little achy, massaging.

“Feels good,” Jack says, voice still gravelly from sleep.

Bitty doesn’t take his eyes off the road but Jack can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “You have access to the best trainers in the world.”

“Soft hands. The team masseuse thinks her goal is to torture us.” Jack looks out the window, trying to place their location. “Where are we?”

“About 40 minutes away from the outlets. And my hands aren’t _that_ soft,” Bitty scoffs. “You can’t knead bread dough with soft hands.”

“Are you calling me bread dough?”

Bitty smirks. “You were a little on the sour side when we met.”

That’s fair. Jack relaxes against the headrest and smiles to himself. He _has_ changed a lot in the seven years since he met Bitty. He's more than the surly hockey robot everybody thought he was. If Samwell (and his friendship with Bitty) started that process, five years in the NHL have taken him to a new level. The first step was signing with a team that had no connection to his father. Living in a city Bad Bob Zimmermann never played in, practicing on ice he never set foot on, has given Jack the freedom to forge his own path. Coming out four years ago also took some of that weight off of his shoulders. He’s playing better than he ever has and while the bulk of that can be attributed to training and playing at this higher level, he knows it’s also because he’s finally free to be himself. Not Bad Bob Junior, not some hockey prodigy, not a hockey robot — just Jack Zimmermann.

“Hey, before I forget,” Bitty says, “this warning light came on a little while ago.” He points at the dash panel, where the low tire pressure icon is lit up in a warning yellow. “Do we need to do anything about it?”

Crap. That warning has been coming up for the past few days and Jack keeps meaning to take care of it. “We can stop and put some air in it on our way out of Clinton.”

Bitty gives Jack’s shoulder another little squeeze and places his hand back on the steering wheel. “I think my playlist is played out, so if you want to put a podcast on, go ahead. Your choice, birthday boy.”

“Anything I want?” Jack asks, because Bitty usually prefers lighter fare like the latest pop culture news. Jack leans toward sports and history podcasts.

“No true crime. Those give me nightmares.”

Jack scrolls through the list of podcasts in his phone and settles on _Proof_ , a food podcast they both enjoy. Soon, they’re both engrossed in a story about a scandal at a chili cook-off; it ends just as Bitty takes the exit for the outlet mall. He drives nearly all the way around the parking lot before finding a spot.

The mall is packed, as Jack would expect on a Friday afternoon during the summer. Some shoppers are clearly tourists seeking deals on the way to their vacation destinations, but there seem to be more than a few families getting a jump on back to school shopping. Crowds like this are the reason Jack orders things online or just uses the things his sponsors send him, but Bitty promises they won’t stay long. They study the outlet directory together as Bitty points out three stores. “Williams Sonoma, Kitchen Outlet, and Crate & Barrel.” he says, tracing a path between each. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour?” Bitty has been known to spend an hour in a single kitchen store, but he’s true to his word and makes quick work of today’s stops despite Jack’s attempts to distract him by holding up random objects and asking what they’re for.

“You can at least let me pay,” Jack says, reaching for his wallet when the Williams Sonoma cashier reads off the total, but Bitty blithely waves him away.

“This is your _birthday_ gift,” he protests. “Besides, my advance came through. It’s not much, but I can afford it now.”

Jack shoves his wallet back into his pocket and instead grabs the bags. It feels wrong that Bitty is paying for things Jack should have alreadybought himself, but Bitty _has_ been doing well. He’s been with the morning show at Providence’s NBC affiliate since he graduated, helping produce segments on the local food and restaurant industry and making occasional on-air appearances, and he just recently started hosting a twice-weekly cooking segment on the afternoon news. His side business is also thriving; the jams and preserves he originally sold at weekend farmers markets are being carried in boutiques and independent markets up and down the region. But the big news is that he’s just signed a deal with a publisher to publish his first cookbook. Shitty jokes that soon Bitty will be more famous than Jack, and Jack doesn’t doubt it. Already, when they hang out in public together, Bitty is recognized as “that guy from the news” as often as Jack is recognized as himself.

“If you were a couple you’d be a power couple,” Shitty’s remarked more than once.

Sometimes Jack wonders if Shitty sees what he wants to see, or if he's picking up on something Jack has never had the words for.

Arms laden with shopping bags, they return to the parking lot to find the tire Bitty was concerned about earlier has visibly deflated since they left it and hour ago.

“Fuck,” Jack grits out, staring at the tire in disbelief. “ _Fuck_.” He slams his hand against the SUV, earning a yelp from Bitty.

“It’s okay. It’s _okay_ ,” Bitty soothes, gently taking the bags from Jack and setting them on the ground beside them. “We’ll just put the spare on.” He pops the hatch and begins moving things out of the way. “You have a spare in here, right?”

Jack turns to Bitty, wide-eyed.

“You don’t have a spare?”

“Why would I have a spare?” Jack yells.

“ _I don’t know_ , for moments like this!” Now Bitty slams his hand on the side of the SUV, only to draw it back in shock. “Oh, that’s hot! Okay, that’s okay. You have Triple A, right? Or some kind of roadside assistance?”

Jack pulls his wallet out of his pocket and extracts the card for the service he pays for. Bitty takes it from him, gently.

“I’ll call,” Bitty says, waving Jack away. “You just go … walk it off, or whatever you need to do.”

Jack does two laps around the outside perimeter of the mall, making a quick detour back inside when he passes the candy shop. It’s designed to look like everything it sells is homemade, but it all has a generic factory sameness to it. The woman behind the counter looks bored and hot; Jack buys something because he feels bad that she has to sit here all day selling candy to tourists.

Bitty is leaning against the car when Jack returns with a bag of peanut brittle and two iced coffees from the Starbucks kiosk. Beads of sweat dot his hairline. “Help is on the way,” he greets Jack. “Should be no more than a half hour now.”

Jack hands Bitty the peanut brittle and a coffee. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I shouldn’t have lost it like that.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Bitty says cooly, peering into the bag. “But I forgive you.”

They trade the bag back and forth, munching on peanut brittle until the guy from roadside assistance arrives to give them a tow to the nearest tire shop. Then it’s another hour before they get the tire changed and back on the road.

“Sorry,” Jack apologizes again when they’re back in the SUV together, Jack behind the wheel this time. “I thought it was just low pressure.”

“I’m partially to blame,” Bitty says. “If I hadn’t insisted on stopping we would have made it to the house.”

“Hey, I got a brand new set of mixing bowls out of it, didn’t I?”

“You sure did, mister.” Bitty grins. “Honestly, I don’t know why you didn’t let me do this when you bought the place.”

“Because I knew you’d go overboard.”

“Wanting a set of mixing bowls so you don’t have to make cookie dough in the same pot you use when you make macaroni and cheese is not going overboard!” Bitty yelps.

Jack shrugs. “It tastes the same.”

“You are such a bro sometimes,” Bitty says fondly. He reaches over the center console to give Jack’s leg a little squeeze and lets his hand rest there, a comfortable weight.

They don’t talk the rest of the way to the beach, or turn on another podcast. They don’t need to. Sometimes Jack’s favorite moments are the quiet ones like these, with the one person he’s so comfortable with he doesn’t feel pressure to fill the silence with words.

**2016**

Bitty makes captain and cries when he calls Jack to tell him the news. Jack’s in the locker room getting ready to leave practice but he cries too. Nobody deserves it more, and Jack knows Bitty will be a worthy successor to Ransom and Holster. He waves off the looks he gets from his teammates and says, “Bittle made captain.” Most of the guys have met a few of Jack’s old teammates, but Bitty’s a favorite because he always brings pie.

“Right on,” Marty says. From the other side of the room, Tater yells, “Go, Little B!”

“There’s something else we need to talk about,” Bitty says, sounding serious and a little … uncertain? It’s hard to tell because the reception in this part of the locker room is spotty at best and Jack’s teammates are now loudly debating which of Bitty’s pies is their favorite.

“Now?” Jack asks, shoving his feet into his slides.

“Um. Are you still in the locker room?” Bitty whispers.

“On my way out,” Jack says, shouldering his duffel. “What’s up?”

“It’s, um… Gosh, Jack, I didn’t really want to have to put you in this position, but the media relations office is putting out a press release. I guess they always do a little something when new captains are chosen, but there’s already a lot of interest because I’m, you know…”

“Because you’re gay,” Jack finishes.

“Apparently I’m the first openly gay NCAA hockey captain? And our most famous former player is on a team in contention for the Stanley Cup. We played on the same line, you’re probably going to get some calls. About me.”

“Oh. That’s not a problem,” Jack says. He’s the only one in the parking lot right now, but he lowers his voice anyway. “I mean, what do you think they’re going to ask?”

“Well, I hope they’ll want you to tell them how I’m a actually double threat, and my skill on the ice is only surpassed by my skill in the kitchen.” Jack chuckles along with Bitty at that. “But you _know_ somebody is going to want to know what it was like to play on the same line as _the gay one_. You know how the press is.”

Jack has spent a lifetime dealing with the press; he knows exactly how it is, how likely it is somebody will latch onto the most controversial sounding bit of gossip, something that will generate a click-worthy headline. Even if the majority of reporters frame Bitty’s story as a victory for gay representation and overcoming stereotypes in a sport rife with toxic masculinity, _somebody_ will want to know if Bitty made his teammates feel uncomfortable in the locker room.

“I’ll give George and the PR team a heads up,” Jack tells him. “They’ll help me come up with a congratulatory statement I can share on social when the news goes public.” It probably won’t stop reporters from slipping questions in after his next game, but at least the fans will know where he stands, how proud he really is.

“I just don’t want to cause any problems for you and the team,” Bitty presses. “I know how awful it can be in professional sports. Or heck, any sports. Pee Wee football in Georgia isn’t exactly known for its inclusivity. With you boys in the playoffs, it could make you a target.”

“Bits,” Jack says as he throws his duffel in the back of his SUV, maybe a little harder than necessary. He’s not mad at Bitty, he’s mad at the culture that has put Bitty in this position in the first place. “Everybody knows I went to Samwell. If anybody has a problem with the fact that I have gay friends, that’s their problem. If they ask me about you, I’ll tell them the truth.”

And that’s what Jack does. With the help of the Falcs’ PR department, he chooses a candid picture Lardo took of him and Bitty fist bumping after a goal and composes an accompanying message to post on his official Instagram: “Congratulations to my former Samwell teammate and friend, Eric Bittle, for being named SMH captain for the 2015-16 season. I was proud to play on a line with him for two years, and I’m proud of him now. Can’t wait to see you take the ice wearing the ‘C’, Bittle!”

As Bitty predicted, the story gains some steam in the greater hockey world and one regional reporter asks about it after a second round playoff win.

Jack’s tired, in need of a shower, and beyond ready to leave when the guy slips it in: “Jack, one of your former college teammates, Eric Bittle, is set to be the first LGBTQ captain in the NCAA. What was it like to play with him?”

When Jack watches himself answer the question later, he’ll notice that his real smile slips past his media-ready facade. “Great liney. Bittle’s the fastest winger I’ve ever played with. He could teach some of these guys a few things,” he says, bumping Tater’s shoulder. Everybody chuckles at that.

“Do you know if he’s being scouted?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Jack says truthfully. “If he is, I hope we’re in the mix.” Satisfied, he turns to leave when another reporter yells over the scrum.

“Do you think the NHL is ready for a gay player?”

What Jack _wants_ to say is that it doesn’t matter if the NHL is _ready_ for a gay player because it already has one (well, _queer,_ really, because Jack is certain he’s bisexual), and he’s doing just fine. But to acknowledge that would mean coming out, and that’s not something he’s ready to do tonight.

Instead, he says, “Bittle is a great athlete who happens to be gay. His sexuality doesn’t affect his game. The only thing that matters is that he’s a team player. I’d play on a line with him any day.”

It’s not a bad statement. Coming from anybody else it would be lauded as “open minded” and “inclusive.” To Jack’s own ears it sounds hollow. It feels cowardly to defend Bitty as the future of queer hockey when he has an opportunity to pave the way.

Jack’s always known he’ll have to come out eventually. In the middle of playoffs during his rookie season wasn’t how he planned to do it, but Bitty has already opened the door. Jack just needs to walk through.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, he calls his parents, his agent, and George and tells them he wants to make a statement. Conversations about whether he should do it during playoffs or over the summer will come later. First, he has something to tell Bitty. It’s long overdue.

**2020**

Jack bought the beach house three years ago. Winning the Cup, then coming out at a post-Cup press conference, had been good. Jack wasn’t sure if he’d ever been happier. But the win cemented his status as a local celebrity, and coming out earned him new fans from around the country. He could feel the eyes following him everywhere he went. “It’s only going to get worse,” Papa said when Jack complained about not even being able to go to the grocery store without being recognized. “You’re the face of a franchise; as far as the fans are concerned, you belong to the city. You’ll need a place where you can be yourself and recharge. Why do you think we always went to that cabin for a month in the summer?”

Jack had always assumed it was because his father liked fishing, but it made sense. The scrutiny he experienced growing up with celebrity parents was nothing compared to being famous himself, and even something as simple as picking up takeout or going to the farmers market with Bitty had the potential to be ruined by well-meaning fans seeking selfies. He didn’t always mind it, especially when it was young fans who told him that his coming out made them believe there was a place for them in hockey. But he did miss the privacy that went along with being a little more anonymous.

Jack put off looking for a vacation home until, the morning after a tough loss in a string of losses, no fewer than three fans gave him unsolicited pointers on how to turn his game around while he picked up breakfast burritos at the neighborhood coffee shop. He’d been off his game all week, had been talking to his trainers and coaches and spending hours each night picking apart his performance. He didn’t even want to talk about it with Bitty or his parents, let alone these strangers. He called the real estate agent some of his teammates had used and told her he wanted to start looking. He didn’t want to rush into anything, but when she found the house on the Connecticut coast a few months later the timing was right.

That first summer, Jack spent almost every weekend there fixing it up. It had been well-maintained by the previous owners, but it was outdated. There was something soothing and satisfying about ripping off old wallpaper and prepping the walls for a fresh coat of paint; Bitty claimed he could never focus that long, but Jack liked the meditative aspect of the process. Sometimes, if Bitty didn’t have a farmers market or Shitty and Lardo weren’t busy, they would come down and help. By the time training camp began the entire house had been given a fresh coat of paint. The second summer, Jack ripped out the shag carpet and installed wood floors. Last summer — at Bitty’s insistence, though Jack didn’t really need much convincing — he purchased new appliances. At some point he’ll have to do something about the dated 1970s kitchen counter tops, but he’s always intended the house to be a long term investment, a place where he’ll eventually bring his kids and grandkids. He has time.

The first drops of rain hit the windshield just as they pull up to the little house on the water. It’s just past 5 p.m., and Jack swears rain wasn’t in the forecast when he checked it yesterday. Bitty startles a little when the windshield wipers automatically turn on. “Well, this is unexpected,” he says with a tight smile. “Guess we won’t be swimming this afternoon.”

Jack stares out past the ocean, where the sky is dark with storm clouds. “Let’s get the car unloaded first. Maybe it’ll pass.”

It doesn’t pass. It gets worse with each trip back and forth, until they’re sprinting from the car to the house, gasping for laughter as Jack slams the door behind them. They’re soaked. They drop their things in separate rooms and change; by the time Jack has put on a pair of basketball shorts and a hoodie he keeps here at the house and thrown his wet clothes into the sink in the laundry room, Bitty’s in the kitchen transferring the contents of his ice chest to the refrigerator. He’s changed into a Falcs t-shirt that Jack’s pretty sure he stole when he moved out because it’s longer and wider than Bitty’s own shirts, the hem almost reaching the bottom of his shorts.

“Need help?”

Bitty points to a box on the kitchen table. “The stuff in there can go in the pantry. Oh, and if you want to go ahead and wash the fruit I put on the counter, so I can start the sangria. The longer it sits, the better it tastes.”

“The way things are looking, we might be better off with hot toddies.

“Don’t ruin my visions of my fantastic beach weekend. I’ve been looking forward to this all summer.”

“Only because now you all get to make fun of me for being an old man.”

“Only.” Bitty grins and chucks a Costco-sized package of butter into the fridge. Jack has long since stopped wondering why Bitty needs that much butter. He’ll find a way to use it.

When everything is unloaded, Bitty gets to work cutting the fruit Jack just washed and throws it all into the sangria jug, then dumps in the alcohol. “Now it goes into the fridge to chill for a day,” Bitty says, placing it in the last remaining space. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the overstuffed refrigerator shelves before he closes it, turns to face Jack, and declares, “I’m beat. Mind if I take a nap?” He’s already heading down the hall toward the room he always stays in. “Everyone’s gonna be here in a few hours and I suspect it’ll be a late night.”

While Bitty naps, Jack checks on the guest rooms their friends will be staying in and puts clean sheets on the beds, then makes sure the guest bathroom is stocked with soap and towels. Satisfied that he’s done everything he needs to do to prepare for their arrival, he settles into a deck chair on the covered patio to watch the storm. The rain has slowed some, but the clouds in the distance are ominous, dark and heavy. He accidentally dozes off, waking when he feels a light hand on his shoulder.

“Hope this isn’t an omen,” Bitty says draping his arms over the back of the chair and Jack’s shoulders and settling his chin on top of Jack’s head. They watch the sky, which seems to be getting darker by the minute, in silence.

“I think it’s just weather,” Jack finally says. “I like it.” He can feel Bitty vibrating with silent laughter. “What?”

“I just got the funniest image of what you’re gonna be like as an old man,” Bitty says. “Sitting out here, keeping an eye on things.” Jack would think it was a chirp, if not for Bitty’s almost unbearably tender tone. Bitty pulls away. “Well, while you monitor the weather I’m gonna go inside and get a pie started so it’s ready when everybody gets here.”

And suddenly Jack knows exactly what Bitty’s talking about. He doesn’t quite understand _why,_ but he can also imagine this moment, can see some version of it being played out dozens of times in some future that hasn’t been written yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned to complete this fic by today, but life came fast this week and I got a little behind in my writing and editing. The good news is, I now have two free days so I hope to be able to post the final part by the end of this week.
> 
> I originally wondered if it would be a little over the top or unrealistic to name a tropical storm after Jack, but as I started writing this a week or so ago I learned they had just named Tropical Storm Hannah and I thought, well, J isn’t too far off then. So let’s assume that in a world where covid doesn’t exist, it’s also a year when we can have a Tropical Storm Jacques.
> 
> Of course as I post this a tropical storm is attacking the East Coast. Obviously, I'm not trying to make light of the situation. If you are affected by it, I hope you’re able to stay safe.

**2020**

Jack stays out on the porch for another 15 minutes until Ransom calls to tell him they’re not coming down tonight. “Sorry, man. It’s a good hour before Holtzy and I will be able to leave, and the weather forecast isn’t looking good.”

“No, you should wait until morning,” Jack agrees. It’s what he would do. “We’ll still have the whole weekend.”

“Poor Bits. He’s probably got some elaborate dinner planned. Is he gonna be mad?”

“I’m sure he’d be more upset if you guys try to drive up in the middle of a storm. I think he was just going to make appetizers or something, anyway. Big dinner is tomorrow night.” Jack’s real birthday is on Monday, but everybody else has to be back at work by Monday morning so they’re all planning to head home on Sunday afternoon. Bitty has something big planned for dinner tomorrow night, possibly involving steak, but every time Jack asks he just smiles mysteriously and mimes zipping his lips.

“Well, tell him we’re sorry for ruining his plans. We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Drive safely,” Jack says, hanging up and heading into the house to tell Bitty the news.

Bitty can only sort of carry a tune, but the way he quietly sings in the kitchen, so absorbed in what he’s doing he’s tuned out the rest of the world, is sweet. Like so many of the personality quirks Jack once found grating, it’s become endearing. If he closes his eyes, Jack can almost trick himself into believing it’s five years ago and they’re back in the Haus, Bitty valiantly trying to sing along to “Love on Top” while weaving a pie lattice.

“I’d stick to baking,” Jack says, coming into the kitchen and stealing a long scrap of apple peel from the counter. Sometimes Bitty will toss them with butter and cinnamon sugar and bake them, but Jack likes them as-is.

“I think my employer would prefer that but you know if Queen Bey made the offer I’d be on tour with her in a minute,” Bitty fires back. “Did you finally get bored watching the rain?”

“Rans called. Looks like it’s just the two of us for dinner,” Jack says, setting his phone on the counter. “Storm isn’t going to pass tonight. They decided to head over tomorrow morning.”

“Makes sense,” Bitty says. “Let me just finish this lattice and we can put something together.” 

“You said something about appetizers earlier?”

Bitty casts a glance around the kitchen, as if he’s afraid somebody is lurking in the shadows, and strides over to the refrigerator. “Look,” he says, squatting down and pulling open the below-fridge freezer drawer with flourish, “Bagel Bites! And mini tacos and fried mac and cheese bites and these adorable little pigs in a blanket.”

“Why are you acting like it’s some big secret?”

Bitty levels Jack with a look that can only be described as _withering_. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann,” he begins in a faux scandalized whisper, “what would either of our fans think if they knew I served _frozen convenience food_ at your birthday party?”

“That you’re too busy to plan an elaborate spread for every meal we eat this weekend? That you like supporting the local Trader Joe’s? That you’re a former frat bro and old habits die hard?”

“Enough with the chirps, Mr. Zimmermann, or there will be no pie tonight.”

“Oh, I’m scared now,” Jack says, pretty confident Bitty will never follow through on that threat.

“Watch me,” Bitty hisses, but his smile gives him away.

Well, Jack thinks as Bitty turns back to his baking, there’s no reason they can’t make the most of this weekend kickoff dinner, even without their friends. Back when they were roommates, they ate together — not every night, but often enough that it’s something Jack has missed. Contrary to what their friends might believe, Bitty didn’t do all the cooking. They’d been good about taking turns or cooking together. Granted, opening boxes of frozen food and heating it up is hardly cooking, but it’s been a long day. It’s not, Jack reasons, that different than ordering pizza or wings.

Sometimes — usually on Friday nights during the summer, when Jack didn’t have to worry about morning practice and Bitty didn’t have to be at work in the morning — they split a bottle of wine. Thinking about that now, Jack grabs a bottle out of the wine rack. He doesn’t recognize the label so it must be one his parents left during their last visit, which means it’s probably a couple hundred dollars more than Jack would spend on a bottle of wine.

While Bitty finishes weaving his lattice, Jack arranges the appetizers in neat rows on a sheet pan and sticks it in the oven. Then he sets the table and lights the candle in the blown glass candle holder — a housewarming gift from Lardo — on the kitchen table. By the time Bitty’s ready to bake his pie, Jack is just taking the appetizers out of the oven. He makes two plates and pours two glasses of wine while Bitty’s washing up and sets them at opposite ends of the table.

Bitty’s eyes grow wide when he turns and takes in Jack’s spread. “What’s this? Wine and candlelight? To go with our mac and cheese bites? So fancy.”

Jack hands him the glass and pulls out a chair at the table, which Bitty sinks into gratefully. “It’s not quite what we had planned but what to do think, Bits? Will you have dinner with me?”

**2018**

“I need a date,” Jack announces, dropping his bag in the entryway and following the scent of pot roast into the kitchen, where Bitty’s frowning at a saucepan on the stove.

“Uh, okay?” Bitty says, shaking something into the pot. He grabs a whisk out of a crock on the counter and gives it a few stirs.

“Tomorrow night. George is nominated for Providence’s Woman of the Year and we have a full table. Thirdy and Carrie were supposed to go but it conflicts with the school talent show or something. He asked me to go in his place, but I need a plus-one.”

“I’m sure Lardo will help you out if she’s not busy,” Bitty says. He throws a pinch of something into the pot, swishes the whisk around the pot again.

“I was hoping I could take you.”

The whisk makes a metallic _clang_ when it slips from Bitty’s grasp and falls against the side of the pot.

“ _Me_? Jack, you can’t!”

“Why not?”

Jack’s out. Everybody knows he’s out. The first openly LGBTQ athlete in the league wasn’t exactly a small story. For all the praise he received, there was also backlash, and two years on he’s still never sure if a hissed slur will accompany a hit on the ice.

Still, being openly bisexual is one thing. Actually dating a man is another. Jack’s never brought a man to an event. To be fair, he hasn’t brought many women either. Since things ended with Helen he’s tried to avoid events that require he bring a significant other. He’d prefer to avoid them altogether, but he knows he can’t make too many excuses. If he could just keep his head down and play hockey he would, but the tradeoff for getting to play professionally is representing the team at these things.

“It’s a five course meal and an open bar. You don’t even have to pretend to be my boyfriend. Just… sit with me and keep me from going insane.”

Bitty grins. “I think you just want me to do all the talking for you.”

“It would be a good networking opportunity,” Jack says, sidestepping Bitty’s (accurate) comment.

Bitty turns away from his pot, placing himself between Jack and the stove, and places a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, I don’t mind, but I need to know you’re okay with it. I know you’re out, but you haven’t really been _out_ out. You sure you’re okay being seen with a man?”

“Bits. I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you. Everybody knows we’re roommates.”

“I’m not asking about me specifically. I’m asking about how you feel about being seen with a man in a situation where he’s assumed to be your date. You haven’t done that yet.”

Not long after Jack came out, he met Helen at a St. Martin family barbecue. Fresh off his winning rookie season in the NHL and focused on the season ahead, Jack hadn’t been looking to date anybody. But he and Helen were attracted to each other and got along well, and their never-quite-serious-enough relationship lasted for a little over a year. It had led some to accuse Jack of not really being bisexual at all. What a look, they said, to come out with a public announcement and then immediately start dating a woman.

“People will make assumptions either way. It won’t be different if I take the woman Tater wants to set me up with.”

“I don’t mind if people make assumptions about us. Who in Providence wouldn’t want to be linked to _the_ Jack Zimmermann? I just need to know you’re okay with it.” Bitty’s eyes haven’t left Jack’s, his breathing is calm and centered. He sounds the way he does when he’s helping Jack come back to himself after an anxiety attack, but for once Jack isn’t anxious. He feels ready to take this step.

“I am,” Jack confirms. He’s more than okay with it. What he told Bitty is true: He’s brought women to these events before, and people will see what they want to see. It usually chafes when people try to link him romantically to somebody who is just an acquaintance, but for some reason he doesn’t mind if people want to think he and Bitty are together. He knows what they look like together. Living together as they have for the past year, it’s been hard not to notice that Bitty’s an attractive man. He always has been, but he’s grown into himself even since graduating from Samwell. His fitness routine is mostly running these days, but sometimes he joins Jack in the weight room and the results show in the way his chest has grown broader and his ass fills out those tiny shorts he still likes to wear around the house.

And Jack… he knows, objectively, that he’s an attractive man. He still occasionally has a hard time separating the reflection he sees in the mirror from the awkward kid he used to be, but it’s hard to deny it now that there are companies seeking to use his face and body in their advertising campaigns, and whispered propositions from fans — men and women alike — who like to hang out where hockey players might be found after a game.

People will see Jack and Bitty together, two attractive, openly queer men, and make assumptions.

Jack decides he’s fine with that.

“I swear,” Bitty continues, “for the amount of people who’ll read too much into it, you know that if we were a couple people would find ways to deny it. You could marry me and some people will still think we’re ‘such good friends’”

Jack’s stomach does a funny little flip at the word “marry.” “Does that mean you’ll come?”

“As long as you’re ready to make your debut as an out and proud bisexual man. You ready?”

Jack nods. Bitty’s right, it’s a big step, a new step. He feels ready.

**  
2020**

Jack didn’t realize how hungry he was until he sits down to his plate of hot food. Bitty must be feeling the same because he oohs and ahs over it like Jack spent hours in the kitchen. “This hit the spot,” he admits, washing a Bagel Bite down with a sip of wine. “Damn, this is smooth.”

“My parents leave a bottle after every visit. They said to save it for a special occasion. I didn’t trust the others to appreciate it.”

Jack can tell he’s said the right thing because even though he can tell Bitty’s tired, his cheeks turn a pleasant shade of pink. “I’m not sure _you_ appreciate it, pairing it with Bagel Bites,” he huffs.

“I appreciate the company,” Jack says honestly.

“You’d appreciate it just as much with Shitty or Lardo,” Bitty deflects. His cheeks have gone even brighter and it’s doing something to Jack.

“I would,” Jack agrees, “but when it comes down to it, if I had to choose only one person to be here with tonight, it would be you.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Bitty whispers, more to his plate than to Jack. “You’re starting to make me think —”

“Think what?” These mac and cheese things Bitty was so excited about are kind of weird. Jack scoops one up with his fork and flips it toward Bitty’s plate. He lands a solid hit right in the center, startling Bitty out of whatever he was about to say.

“Starting to think you are a terrible, trouble-making young man. Didn’t your mama teach you not to play with your food?” Bitty grins slyly and flings the appetizer back at Jack’s plate.

“Oh, it is on, Bittle.” The words are no sooner out of Jack’s mouth than mac and cheese bites are arcing across the table. Jack’s a more accurate shot but Bitty is faster. Somehow Jack ends up with even more of them on his side of the table, including one bobbing in his wine glass.

“Oops,” Bitty giggles, leaning across the table to fish it out. Jack can tell he’s on the edge of tipsy by the way he can’t quite scoop it up.

“Here,” Jack says, picking it out with his fingers and dropping it in Bitty’s mouth.

“Ew, Jack!” he laughs, but he chews and swallows and declares, “It’s not that bad, really.”

“Says Channel 7’s resident cooking expert.”

Bitty primly dabs at his mouth with his napkin. “I contain multitudes, Jack Zimmermann.”

“Multitudes of Bagel Bites,” Jack mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Bitty asks, eyes blazing.

“Nothing!” Jack protests, unable to stop laughing. “More wine?”

They’re both tired and tipsy enough that dishes take twice as long as they should because Jack keeps intentionally messing up the lyrics to “Crazy in Love” and Bitty keeps flicking his ass with his dish towel. Neither can stop laughing, even when Jack drops a dish and they have to look for the broom and dust pan to clean it up. Once again, Jack has a feeling that this is what his life could be, what it _will_ be, and he wonders why it’s taken him so long to figure it out.

When Jack sings “lazy in love” for the fourth time Bitty pulls a face and hip checks him with all of is weight. “What does that even mean? ‘Lazy,’ in love?I swear, Mr. Zimmermann, who wants a lazy lover?” His eyebrows knit together and he gets that little wrinkle in his brow like he does when he’s concentrating, as if he’s actually trying to answer the question.

“I don’t know, nobody!” Jack laughs. “But sometimes it’s really nice to spend a lazy morning in bed with somebody.”

“You? Mister Up-To-Greet-The-Sun, Works-Harder-Than-God? What would you know about lazy morning in bed with your lover?” He pronounces “lover” like “lovah,” making Jack lose it all over again. “You got a playbook for what said ‘lazy morning’ involves?”

“Um,” Jack stalls, suddenly very aware that his answer wouldn’t include things he’s done with other partners. Rather, it would be what he imagines a morning in bed with Bitty would be like.

In Jack’s romantic version of the scene, he wakes Bitty with gentle kisses and they lazily make out for a while, eventually progressing to unhurried hand jobs. In the more realistic version of the scene, Bitty fights waking and grumbles about the early hour, throws the covers over his head and snuggles up against Jack’s chest to go back to sleep. Jack realizes he wants both.

“What? Getting too caught up in your little fantasy?” Bitty rolls his eyes and bites back a knowing smile, like he’s figured Jack out, and Jack thinks that this time he’s not going to get it wrong. He’s going to kiss Bitty.

He’s about to make his move, he swears it, when the songs changes to “Love on Top” and Bitty shouts, “Bring the beat in!” and begins to move in time to the music in a way that may slowly kill Jack, or at least render him unfit to continue washing the dishes.

It’s close to ten when Jack puts the last clean plate in the cabinet and tells Bitty he’s going to turn in for the night. He’s a little disappointed when Bitty so quickly agrees, but they were both up before dawn and tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. They wish each other good night and head to their separate rooms, Bitty claiming he’s going to check in with Lardo one last time to find out when they plan to get on the road in the morning. Jack takes a quick shower, just long enough to wash off the grime of the day, and gets into bed. He falls asleep quickly, the consistent tattoo of the rain outside a soothing lullaby.

*

It’s still dark outside when Jack wakes at five, the rain as heavy as it was when he fell asleep. His mind and body are ready to run but he knows a morning run is out of the question in this weather. Idly, he wonders if he should get a Peloton to keep here for days like this, but he thinks about having this conversation with Bitty and that Bitty would tell him he’s on vacation and he should sleep in. So he rolls over and goes back to sleep, waking again just before eight.

Bitty’s already in the kitchen when Jack pads in, mixing something in one of the new Pyrex bowls he bought yesterday. “Mornin’, Sunshine,” Bitty greets him. “I made coffee. Just let me get your cake in the oven and I can whip up some pancakes.”

“Can I help?” Jack asks, filling a Harvard Law mug with coffee. It’s a running joke that all of Jack’s vacation home mugs were gifts from other people. In addition to Shitty’s Harvard mug he has one with a simple line drawing of a pie that says, “Pie for breakfast,” Pens and Habs mugs from his father, one that features a quote from one of his mother’s movies, a heavy clay mug Lardo made and painted herself, and a plain navy blue mug emblazoned with the logo for the company Ransom and Holster work at. It makes him happy to open the cabinet in the morning and see everyone he loves inside.

“Not much to help with, yet,” Bitty says. “Not with the cake, anyway. If you wanna start getting the bacon and eggs ready they’re in the fridge. You’ll eat bacon, won’t you?”

Jack shrugs. It’s not something he should eat a lot of during the season, but it’s not like he’s been slacking this off-season. He can have a little bacon.

“Bits,” Jack says as he rummages in the fridge for the package of bacon, “you didn’t buy all of this stuff yourself, did you? Everyone else chipped in?” All of the meats, cheeses, and seafood Bitty’s purchased are from high end local suppliers and he’s bought enough to feed, well, a former hockey team. It can’t have been inexpensive.

Bitty waves off Jack’s concern. “Venmo is a thing. Plus, I have a little arrangement with a lot of those guys in Providence. They all got to jump to the top of the waitlist for my limited edition blackberry jam in exchange for a little discount.”

“Okay,” Jack says, still a little uncertain. “But I don’t want you going into debt just because it’s my birthday. You don’t have to impress me. I really am happy with Bagel Bites.”

“I know you are.” Bitty grins and flicks some flour in Jack’s general direction.

They’re just sitting down to breakfast when both of their watches vibrate with a CNN news alert. The storm has been upgraded to a tropical storm and given a name. “Jacques,” Bitty announces, brow raised. “Seems fitting.”

“Seems ominous,” Jack says.

“I thought you were the one who said it was ‘just weather.’”

“That was before they named the weather after me.” Jack takes a bite of scrambled eggs.

“Well, we’ll never forget where we were when ‘Tropical Storm Jacques’ came through, that’s for sure.”

Jack frowns and calls up the article on his phone to see if there’s more information. “Huh,” he says. “Looks like it’ll probably bypass us, but they’re recommending avoiding all travel up and down the coast until this passes.”

“What does that mean?” Bitty asks. “Are we gonna be stranded here all weekend?” He looks around apprehensively. “This place is sturdy, right? I’ve seen what some of those hurricanes can do.”

“It means we should probably check in with the guys and see if they’ve left yet. And I think we’ll be fine here. You brought enough food for an army, and I’ve got some firewood in the shed if the power goes out. I don’t mind,” Jack says, glancing out the kitchen window. It’s past sunrise but with no visible sun to speak of it’s hard to know if it’s morning or night. “Could be kinda fun.”

Bitty still looks worried but he finally smiles, first the forced smile he uses when he’s trying to put on a happy face but then, like the sun breaking through the clouds, his real smile peeks through. “It’ll be just like being roommates again.”

**2017**

  
“You should move in with me,” Jack says over beer and pizza at his place toward the end of Bitty’s senior year. Bitty’s moving to Providence as soon as he graduates to begin his new job with Channel 7. He’d applied for jobs in Boston and even back home in Georgia, but his baking vlog had caught the eye of a producer looking for an assistant to help out with food-related segments on the morning news. They were impressed with the work he’d done on his vlog. It didn’t hurt that he also spent last summer here in Providence interning with the Falcs. His team hadn’t just supported Jack after he came out, they’d doubled down on their commitment to diversity in hockey and hired Bitty for an internship in their communications department. He’d worked with the team that produces the Falcs TV segments and become friendly with just about everyone in the organization, players and staff alike. 

Having Bitty around last summer had been fun. Jack was often busy with interviews and public appearances, and of course Bitty was at work most of the day, but on the weekends they explored the city together or met up with Shitty and Lardo in Boston. Bitty had turned 21 that spring and was sometimes successful in talking Jack into finally exploring Providence’s night life and going to clubs. Neither one of them had a lot of experience with gay clubs, and Bitty claimed it was the perfect chance for them to experiment, both of them single and Jack newly out. Jack enjoyed clubbing with Bitty about as much as he enjoyed it on the rare occasions he teammates could talk him into it, which was to say, not much at all. But he did enjoy watching Bitty out on the dance floor, showing off a side of himself that Jack didn’t think he was completely comfortable revealing even at Samwell. Other times they went out with Tater and his girlfriend Vanessa, a sports reporter at Channel 7 he’d started dating not long after the Stanley Cup final. By the end of the summer, Bitty had built up a network of friends and professional contacts in Providence and had started mentioning maybe expanding his post-college job search beyond the Boston area.

Jack has a feeling Vanessa had a little something to do with making sure Bitty’s name got to the right people at the station. At any rate, he made it through three rounds of interviews and the job is his (contingent upon _finishing his thesis_ and actually graduating).

This is the second weekend in a row Bitty has come to look at apartments. So far he’s rejected every one he’s looked at for being too expensive, or too far away from work, or too run down, or too _something_. Jack has been to most of the showings with Bitty and he’s not wrong, but Jack hasn’t exactly done anything to encourage him to try one of the apartments he can afford. If anything, he’s been quick to point out the potential flaws in all the places Bitty’s seen. “This one is so close to the train station. You’ll hear trains all night,” he said as a train horn sounded in the distance while they toured a unit that was otherwise perfect: newly remodeled kitchen, close to running paths, easy commute. The real estate agent hadn’t looked too pleased with Jack, but Bitty agreed with him and resignedly told the agent they’d try again next weekend.

Jack didn’t think he was intentionally trying to sabotage Bitty’s apartment hunt until just now, as he hears himself suggest being roommates. Getting used to living alone after three years in the Haus had been an adjustment. He’dthought he would appreciate the solitude, but he misses the noise and the chaos, the rooftop talks about nothing and everything. He misses falling asleep to the sound of his Hausmates playing video games and waking up to Bitty’s pop music. He misses the pies. He misses Bitty. Last summer had been exciting and chaotic, what with all the drama of winning the Cup and coming out. Having Bitty to come home to, somebody who knew him and kept him grounded and knew exactly the right things to say (or the right type of pie to bake) when it all became overwhelming, had been wonderful. Providence had felt, for the first time, like home.

“What? Me move in with you for real? Jack, I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Well, I can’t afford it, for one. It’s one thing when it’s just for the summer, but permanently?”

Jack shrugs. “I’m not going to ask you to pay rent, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, but then he reconsiders his words. He’d be happy to cover all of Bitty’s living expenses but he can see how that might be weird for Bitty — not to mention how it might look to others. “Or,” he backtracks, “I’ll take care of the mortgage and if you really want to, you can take care of half the utilities and your own food and the Netflix bill or something. I’m hardly here during the season. It’ll be nice to have somebody here to take care of things. I think the plants get lonely.”

Bitty still looks unsure so Jack pulls out the one thing he knows Bitty won’t be able to resist: “You know my kitchen is nicer than anything you’ve looked at.”

“You’re bribing me, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m playing to my audience.” Jack grins. “What do you say? Do you want to be roommates? It worked out pretty well last summer.” The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense.

Bitty still looks uncertain. “Will Helen be okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“I don’t know. Just seems like you two have been together for a while now, and she might wonder why you’re asking your college teammate to move in instead of her.”

“We’re not like that,” Jack says quickly. The thing with Helen has always been casual. She’s nice. They have a good time together. He’s pretty sure their relationship is nearing its expiration date. “I mean,” he adds, “unless you think it will be weird for Luc. Is he still planning to come visit this summer?”

Bitty snorts and takes a pull of his beer. “I think I’m gonna break up with Luc.”

“Really? Again?” Bitty and Luc have had an on-again, off-again long distance relationship since Bitty spent that summer in Paris two years ago. Bitty was single last summer, but he went back to Paris for a visit during winter break and suddenly things are “on again.”

“Luc is very hot, and very French. I think that’s the problem.”

Jack laughs. “The problem is that he’s … hot and French? Doesn’t sound like a problem to me, bud.” One of the nicest things about coming out is that Jack can joke with Bitty like this.

“ _Too_ French,” Bitty qualifies, picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“What’s ‘too French?’”

“We’d go out with his friends and I could never understand what they were saying. And I think they made fun of my accent,” Bitty says blithely. Jack can tell he’s trying for wry good humor but there’s an undercurrent of sadness in his tone, so he doesn’t chirp him about how he spent almost four months in France and _still_ can’t put two sentences together.

“That sucks, Bits. I’m sorry.”

“Not like I was expecting to marry the guy. It was just supposed to be a summer fling. Never meant for it to go on this long.”

Now Bitty really looks sad, and Jack can’t tell if it’s because he’s upset with himself or with Luc. Or with Jack for bringing it up in the first place. “Come here.” Jack pats the spot next to him on the couch. Bitty scoots over, closing the distance between them, and lets Jack hug him to his side. “Breakups suck,” Jack murmurs into Bitty’s hair. “But you shouldn’t be with somebody who could never really commit to you and lets his friends make fun of you. Honestly, that sounds pretty shitty. You deserve better.”

Bitty sighs and relaxes against Jack. “I think I’m done with men for a while. So no, it’s not gonna be a problem for my boyfriend if I move in with you because I don’t have a boyfriend. I just want to be sure you’re okay with it.”

“Are you kidding?” Jack asks, hope and excitement mingling until he’s positive Bitty can feel how fast his heart is beating. Last summer, he’d hoped Bitty would like Providence well enough to consider moving here. Now it’s actually happening. “Bits, it’s gonna be great.”

**  
2020**

With their breakfast dishes washed, Jack’s cake cooling on the counter, another pie in the oven, and their friends’ arrival delayed yet again, Jack pulls a stack of games out of the hall closet. When he bought this house he discovered the previous owners had left what was obviously their collection of “vacation games,” old editions of Rummikub and Battleship, a battered Candy Land that looks like the version Jack had as a kid, a Fenway Park puzzle. He’s added some new games to the collection but they don’t have enough players for One Night Ultimate Werewolf and Bitty’s not a fan of Scrabble. He finally selects his new copy of Ticket to Ride and tosses it onto the kitchen table. “Wanna play?”

By the time Bitty has just barely eked out a victory, the kitchen is filled with an aroma Jack associates with home even though it’s been a year and a half since Bitty moved out. Jack hadn’t really wanted Bitty to move, but Bitty insisted he’d been taking advantage of Jack for far too long and it was time he got his own place. He could afford some of the more expensive places he’d originally looked at, and they were closer to work. Secretly, Jack has always wondered if the real reason Bitty moved out was because living together was getting in the way of Bitty’s love life. They both occasionally brought people home, and tried to be discreet about their activities, but it was always a little awkward. Of course, if he were to call Bitty out on it Bitty would deny it and explain, again, that he’d been in Providence long enough and needed to make his own way.

“I’ve gotta get that pie,” Bitty says seconds before the timer goes off. “And then I’ll frost your cake and maybe start on a cherry pie? Do you want cherry or peach?”

Jack doesn’t bother to tell Bitty that with their friends not coming, they don’t need this much dessert. Bitty bakes when he has people to feed and he bakes when he’s happy and he bakes when he’s stressed. Right now, with the storm gathering steam and the party he’s spent weeks planning going down in flames, Jack can tell he’s a little stressed out. He puts the game away, collecting the little pieces and meticulously putting them in their designated spaces in the box, while Bitty tends to the pie in the kitchen. He smiles to himself when he hears Bitty singing again. He thinks he recognizes the melody from a new Taylor Swift song Bitty had on his car playlist yesterday.

Jack goes outside to the shed and moves some wood inside. Then he goes back out and walks the perimeter of the house, making sure everything is secure. The house was inspected thoroughly before he bought it, but you never know. He moves the deck chairs into the shed, just in case the wind gets strong enough to blow them away. He crosses his fingers that the worst of the storm really will bypass them because he doesn’t have the supplies to board up the windows. He should probably get some just in case this happens again.

They pass the rest of the afternoon playing games, working on the puzzle, and doing things separately but together, Jack reading a book of short stories he keeps here at the house and Bitty playing a game on his phone.

“I think we should just go ahead and make the steaks for dinner,” Bitty says when both of their stomachs begin to growl. They’ve been picking at a bowl of grapes all afternoon, and one pie is already mostly gone, but they didn’t really eat lunch. “Just enough for the two of us. We can put the rest in the freezer and you can have it the next time you’re here. If that’s okay with you, of course. It’s still your birthday, you should choose.”

“That makes sense,” Jack agrees. “I just feel bad that all your plans got ruined. You put so much work into planning this whole weekend.”

“Plans change,” Bitty says with a shrug. “I’m more upset that your birthday weekend is ruined.”

“It’s not. I didn’t want a big party, remember? I went along with it because it was what everyone else wanted. Honestly, Bits, as long as I get to spend the weekend here with you I’m happy.”

They’ve known each other long enough that Bitty shouldn’t get flustered when Jack compliments him, but he flushes just a little and says something about the time and needing to make sure the potatoes have time to cook, then rushes back into the kitchen.

Dinner isn’t the elaborate meal Bitty originally planned. From what Jack has been able to infer, Bitty was going to cook the steaks using some elaborate technique. Instead, he sprinkles them liberally with salt and pepper and sears them in garlic butter in the iron skillet. He waves off Jack’s offer to help with the side dishes, saying it’s still his birthday dinner even if his guests never made it. Jack is forbidden from entering the kitchen so he reads another story in his book. Bitty does allow him to open another bottle of wine and they have a glass together after he’s put the potatoes in the oven, which have to cook longer than everything else. When Bitty heads back in to cook the steaks, Jack sets the table. They had originally planned to eat at the long picnic table on the wraparound deck, but outdoor dining isn’t in the cards tonight. Jack sets the little table in the kitchen nook instead of the larger table in the dining room, choosing cozy and intimate over the more formal option.

Bitty’s beaming when he sets a plate with a perfectly seared steak, twice-baked potato, and green beans in front of Jack. It looks every bit as delicious as Jack’s favorite meal at his favorite Providence steak house and knowing Bitty, it will be better.

“I told everybody the dress code was beach casual but I suppose we can let that slide tonight,” Bitty says as he takes the seat across from Jack. They’re both wearing the sweat pants and hoodies they’ve been wearing all day.

”Maybe just as well,” Jack says. “Who knows how Shitty would have interpreted ‘beach casual?’”

”Oh lord,” Bitty giggles. “Do you think he would have gone with the cheetah-print Speedo or that floral caftan he found in the side closet?”

“Probably both.” They smile at each other across the table and Jack refills their wine glasses.

“To Jack, and to Tropical Storm Jacques for changing this evening’s plans,” Bitty toasts, raising his glass. “May all your birthday wishes come true.”

“And to you,” Jack adds, “for being here with me this weekend. Thank you for all of this, Bits.”

Bitty’s eyes, warm and full of love, never leave Jack’s, even as they both bring their glasses to their lips and drink.

“Oh my god, Bits,” Jack says around his first bite of savory, perfectly tender steak. “This is really just … salt and pepper?”

“And a little garlic and butter,” Bitty says. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes the best things are the easiest.”

They eat in silence for a little while, just savoring their meal, when Jack is struck with a terrible thought. Bitty hasn’t mentioned it, which means it probably wasn’t worth mentioning, but suddenly Jack needs to know right now. “Hey, didn’t you have a date last week?” 

“Meh.” Bitty makes an “iffy” motion with his hand. “He was nice and all, just not really my type.”

Bitty seems content to leave it at that but Jack’s curiosity gets the better of him. “Your type?”

Bitty shifts in his seat. “You know, I don’t like to think of myself as shallow. There’s more to somebody than their looks,” he starts.

“Sure, but physical attraction is important,” Jack argues. They’ve talked about this before, when Jack mentioned he didn’t understand why Shitty kept trying to set him up with tall brunettes.

“Sure. And the guy wasn’t _un_ attractive. I can admit he was a good-looking man. Plenty of people would call him their type. You maybe,” Bitty adds, leveling a knowing look at Jack. “Just … not right for me. I’ve never been with somebody who’s shorter than me and I just…” Bitty turns to Jack and looks at him imploringly. “Does that make me a terrible person?”

“Because he isn’t your type physically?” Jack takes a sip of wine to hide his smile.

“I didn’t tell him that, of course. I was a perfect Southern gentleman and told him I had a lovely time. It’s just … there weren’t sparks, you know? Even if a guy doesn’t tick _all_ my boxes, there should still be sparks.”

The sparks Bitty’s talking about, Jack’s felt them. He used to think it was just a passing thing, when Bitty would turn to him with a certain look or smile at one of their inside jokes. But the sparks have become more and more frequent over the years, have practically lit him on fire this weekend, and Jack doesn’t know if he can ignore them any longer.

Jack would be lying if he said he’s not attracted to Bitty. He’s just never had the opportunity to act on that attraction. He’s always pushed it to the back of his mind, buried it under ‘hockey’ and everything else that demands his attention. Maybe Bitty does the same thing. Sometimes, at the end of an event one of them drags the other to, Bitty will look at Jack like he wants to say something more than, “I’ll talk to you soon” but he always stops short, like he’s catching himself before he says too much.

“So what _is_ your type?” Jack asks, tongue loosened by empty bottle of wine that sits on the table between them. They’ve never talked about it in specifics because it’s pretty obvious that all the men Bitty has dated have a few things in common and Jack doesn’t want to get his hopes up tonight, but …

“Big,” Bitty says candidly. “Bigger than me, anyway. I like to feel … safe. And —” Bitty looks away from Jack as his face flares bright red. “You know, maybe you don’t need to know everything.” But the look on Bitty’s face gives him away; it tells Jack enough, anyway.

“Can I ask you another question?” Jack asks. He feels brave tonight.

“I’m here all night,” Bitty says, giggling a little nervously.

“Why haven’t you and I …?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope to have the final part of this fic up soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Bitty looks at his plate, his lap, the clock above the stove, everywhere except at Jack. “Why haven’t we … what?” he asks, even though the question is obvious. He needs to hear it, Jack realizes. He needs Jack to say the words.

“Why not us?” Jack asks again. “Why aren’t we together?"

“Oh lord,” Bitty says with a soft chuckle, “I don’t think we’ve had nearly enough wine to have this conversation.”

“I think that means we’ve had exactly enough,” Jack counters, pressing his foot against Bitty’s under the table so he can’t scurry off and avoid the thing they’ve been dancing around all weekend. For the past five years, really. “Bits?”

“It’s not that I haven’t thought about it,” Bitty says, and for a horrible second Jack worries this is Bitty’s way of letting him down gently. “I think we’ve just always had really crappy timing.”

Jack can’t argue with that.

“I wanted —” Bitty stops cold and picks up his wine glass, seems to realize it’s empty, sets it back down. “I had the biggest crush on you sophomore year. Looking back, I can’t believe nobody noticed. Guess that’s the benefit of living with a bunch of clueless jocks. If Shitty and Lardo couldn’t even figure out their deal, there’s no way they were gonna pick up on my little crush. And you were hopeless, though I can’t really blame you. You had so much on your plate, and I didn’t want to add to that by telling you I had feelings. Besides,” he adds not accusatorially, just matter-of-fact, “I still thought you were straight.”

Jack has long suspected Bitty may have had a little bit of a crush on him in college, if only because Lardo alluded to it once in conversation a couple years ago. It’s nothing Jack would have picked up on his own. To hear Bitty confirm it should make him happy, and maybe he will be later, but right now he just feels wistful about what could have been. What, he wonders, would his first few years in the NHL have been like with Bitty by his side? Not just as his best friend, but his partner?

“That’s my fault, not yours,” he says, hearing the regret in his voice. “I don’t think I realized I felt something more than friendship for you until right before I graduated. Not until you told me you were going to Paris. There was a moment when I thought, _maybe_. But it was bad timing for everyone. You were going to be away all summer and I was headed to Providence. I told myself it was best to let you go. I didn’t want to add a long distance relationship to both of our stress, and I never would have forgiven myself if you turned Paris down because of me.”

“Oh honey.” The smile Bitty allows himself is half wistful, half amused. “You know, one of the reasons I went to Paris was to try to get over you? I told myself I was going to find a nice young French man who’d make me forget all about Jack Laurent Zimmermann.”

“And you did,” Jack says, thinking about Bitty’s shitty French ex, whom he’s never forgiven for making fun of Bitty’s accent.

“And I did,” Bitty says. “It even worked out for a while. _Nice_ might be a little too generous a descriptor for Luc, but I sure learned a lot when I was with him. Helped me figure some things out about myself. It was good for me to finally be in a relationship, even if it wasn’t perfect or forever. And Luc was into me! It made me realize there were other boys out there. That a relationship was something I could have, and that I could be happy, even if it wasn’t with you.”

Bitty’s admission feels like a hit to the chest, but it’s what Jack deserves. “I just tried not to think about you,” Jack admits. “Every time I’ve thought about you in that way over the years, I’ve told myself it was nothing before I could talk myself into believing it could be something.”

“I don’t think I ever stopped carrying a torch for you,” Bitty confesses. “There was no talking myself out of it, I just convinced myself it was never going to happen. And then you came out and I got my hopes up for a hot minute, but the timing wasn’t right.”

“You and Luc weren’t together when I came out,” Jack points out. “You were on a break.”

“But you weren’t ready to be in a relationship,” Bitty says reasonably. “You’d just won the Cup _and_ come out. I was there that summer, remember? All of the interviews and articles and endorsements? It was a lot. You needed some time to get used to being out without the pressure of a public relationship. I told myself that whatever we might be able to have could wait until you were ready. And then ...”

“Then I met Helen, and you and Luc got back together,” Jack finishes.

“Yeah.” Bitty doesn’t sound bitter, or angry, or even sad. “I didn’t get back with Luc because you met Helen, if that’s what you’re wondering. I still thought we could make a relationship work on the basis of international pining and Skype sex.” Jack snorts. “I had a lot to learn, obviously. And you know, maybe it was for the better. It was my senior year and between hockey and my thesis, I don’t know if I would have been able to handle anything more serious than what I had with Luc. As seriously as I took it, it was hard to be all in with an entire ocean between us.”

Jack tries to imagine what it would have been like to date Bitty when he was still in school. They’d been close Bitty’s last two years at Samwell, Bitty had even spent weekends with Jack when he needed a quieter place to study, but he can’t be certain it would have helped Bitty’s productivity if _he_ had been an additional distraction.

“Neither of us has really been serious about anybody since Helen and Luc,” Jack says, knowing that even if that’s technically true, they’ve both casually dated other people. It’s pointless to try to deconstruct this; it’s enough that they seem to be on the same page now.

“No,” Bitty says, “but we sure have been on a lot of dates that weren’t dates.”

Jack thinks of all the times they’ve shown up for each other, the “dates” they both insisted were just friends helping each other out. Last year Bitty accompanied him to the ESPYs; Jack returned the favor when Bitty needed a date to the regional Emmy awards presentation. They’ve gone to local Pride events together and Jack has cooked with Bitty on the morning show. By now their friendship is so well known to locals it doesn’t even raise eyebrows when they show up at events together.

“Jack,” Bitty whispers, leaning in closer, “don’t tell anybody, but I think we may be dating.”

“We’re so stupid,” Jack groans.

“Not stupid, sweetheart,” Bitty says, reaching for Jack’s hand across the table. “Maybe just a little slow to get started.” Jack has spent far too many predawn hours in the rink with Bitty to recognize the specific look on Bitty’s face — the proud and almost defiant set of his jaw, the determined glint in his eyes, the crease in his brow — as his game face, the one he’d bravely put on to take a check until a hit from Jack was so expected he didn’t need to be brave anymore.

“So let’s get started,” Jack says, leaning forward as Bitty does the same. It’s almost a romantic moment. Unfortunately, though the table is small, it’s not small enough that they can meet in the middle without some major adjustments and Jack is fairly certain it wasn’t built to bear the weight of a 6’1” hockey player. “But maybe not here,” he amends, falling back into his chair. Bitty mirrors him, nervous laughter bubbling up until he’s sliding off of his chair and onto the floor.

In an instant, Jack is by Bitty’s side, extending a hand to help him up, but instead of helping Bitty to his feet, Bitty tugs Jack down to the floor with him.

Fuck it, it’s still kind of romantic.

“You okay there, bud?” Jacks asks as Bitty slumps against him in silent laughter.

Bitty gulps and nods. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I think it just hit me that we’re finally doing this.”

Jack nods. He gets it. He shifts his body until the angle is just right and Bitty, anticipating Jack’s next move just like he always did on the ice, tilts his head toward Jack’s at just the right angle for their lips to meet in a first kiss that’s five years overdue.

**2019**

Bitty’s star is on the rise. He was hired as a production assistant, but in the time he’s been with his station his bosses have given him opportunities to appear on-air. Over the past few months he’s developed short, five minute spots for the morning show that do extremely well on social media. In one, he profiled five different ice cream shops for National Ice Cream day. In another he asked local chefs to “reinvent” the traditional green bean casserole for Thanksgiving. Jack and Bitty have never crossed paths at work but that’s all changing this week.

The Falconers have always enjoyed a certain level of local popularity, but they’re media darlings again thanks to a winning season that has them headed into the playoffs. Several months ago Bitty pitched a story about how the team eats while on the road, an idea enthusiastically embraced by everyone involved. Now Bitty and a film crew are accompanying the Falcs on a short roadie to New York City. 

The best part of having Bitty here isn’t knowing he’s somewhere in the stands during the game, though that’s always in the back of Jack’s mind and might be responsible for the way he’s been playing tonight. The best part of having Bitty here on the road with him is getting to watch him at work. He’s so natural in front of the camera, and good at getting a bunch of jocks to open up and talk naturally instead of in soundbites. People are just drawn to him. It’s hard for Jack to remember there was a time he found Bitty’s essential _Bittyness_ exasperating.

Or maybe the best part of having Bitty here is getting to hang out with him after the Falconers win the first of two games. It’s playoffs and Jack wears the ‘C’ now so he has to set the example, but there’s no reason Bitty can’t come back to his room with him after they finish filming for the night. They don’t do much, just watch highlights from the evening's other playoff games and share a bag of caramel corn, but it’s comfortable and familiar and puts Jack in the right mindset to go into tomorrow’s game.

He walks with Bitty to his room in a different wing of the hotel, suddenly aware they’re attracting a lot of attention as they wait for the elevator alongside a group of fans that has clearly come straight from a bar.

“Jack Zimmermann! Great game tonight!” Two members of the group are wearing Jack’s jersey and another is in the Falconers Pride jersey that sold out last year. Jack knows there’s no way they’re getting out of elevator selfies with these people, so he agrees easily when they ask.

“Your boyfriend too,” one of them says. “Get him in the picture too.”

“Oh, we’re not— We’re just friends,” Jack finishes lamely.

“Really?” another elevator passenger, who isn’t even part of the selfie group, asks, clearly skeptical. Jack hears Zimmermann Jersey mutter to Pride Jersey, under her breath, “Do you sneak your _friends_ out of your hotel room at midnight?”

Bitty hears it too. “Y’all,” he says, shaking his head in a physical representation of _Oh, bless your soul_ , “Jack and I have been best friends for almost a decade. Take a look at our Wikipedia pages if you need to verify it, we were college teammates. You saw me leaving his hotel room in the middle of the night because I’m working on a story about the team for the Channel 7 morning news. Be sure to check it out!” he calls brightly as the elevator stops and the group gets out. When the doors have closed and they’ve resumed their ascent to Bitty’s floor, they look at each other and lose it.

“I cannot _believe_ they thought I was a puck bunny,” Bitty gasps, leaning against Jack as he catches his breath.

“Oh come on,” Jack says, glancing down at his sweat pants and faded Samwell hoodie. “More like they saw somebody so professional and put together they wondered what you’re doing slumming it with a hobo like me.”

Bitty pulls out his phone and takes a quick selfie as the elevator stops on his floor. “Look at us,” he says as tilts his screen toward Jack. “Cutest couple that never was.”

**2020**

At some point they realize the wood floor isn’t the best place for a makeout session and they end up on the couch. One might think that after more than five years of repressed sexual tension they would move faster, but right now there’s no urgency to progress beyond kissing and touching. Maybe because somehow, Jack knows that five years of missed opportunities is nothing compared to the years that stretch out ahead of them.

“Mm,” Bitty sighs, bracing a hand against Jack’s chest as Jack hovers over him, “aren’t you glad you let me talk you into this couch instead of the one from Ikea?”

Jack barks out a laugh, remembering the weeks-long discussion they had about this very couch back when he was furnishing the house. He’d wanted to buy the Ikea couch because it was in stock, but Bitty had dragged him to a high end furniture store and insisted this sectional would look better in the space. “And,” Bitty had pointed out, “it has actual lumbar support, and you can mix and match the pieces to make an extra long section so you can stretch out for naps.”

Almost everything in this house bears some evidence of Bitty’s influence, and while Jack can say without lying that it’s only because almost everybody he knows has a better eye for style than he does, he can also say that it wasn’t his parents, or Shitty or Lardo or Tater, whose approval he sought with each purchase and home improvement he made. He’s been shaping his post-college life around Bitty from the very beginning, he just didn’t realize it.

“Wasn’t thinking we’d be using it quite like this,” Jack admits, rolling off of Bitty and giving an exaggerated stretch. “But you were right.”

“Bet you appreciate that lumbar support now,” Bitty says, making “lumbar support” sound far more sexy than it should. "Maybe that means you should listen to me more often.” 

“Maybe I should,” Jack replies, voice low. He dips down to drop a series of kisses in the junction between Bitty’s neck and shoulder, hoping to draw out the breathy little moan he’s learned Bitty makes when he hits a particularly sensitive spot.

“For instance, if we were to move to the bed so we can really— _oh!_ ” Bitty can’t even finish his thought before Jack is on it, standing and picking Bitty up in one swift motion.

“You were saying?” Jack asks, carrying a laughing Bitty into his bedroom and dropping him onto the bed he helped pick out. Jack flops down next to him, where he resumes his very attentive exploration of the most sensitive parts of Bitty’s neck.

“I was saying you should keep doing that,” Bitty gasps, even as his hands find their way under the waistband of Jack’s pants. “Um,” he says awkwardly, pausing with his hand around Jack’s dick, “do you have condoms?”

Jack stretches an arm across Bitty and knocks on the nightstand to his right. “In the drawer.”

Bitty raises an eyebrow but rolls over, spends a few seconds rummaging for the strip of condoms Jack threw in there at some point. “Found ‘em!” he exclaims, brandishing the strip like it’s some long-searched-for buried treasure. He squints as he reads the small print. “Glow in the dark?”

“ _Crisse,_ ” Jack mutters. “They were in a gift bag at an awards dinner.”

“You really do use everything they give you, don’t you?” Bitty smirks. “Well, at least we’re all set if the power goes out.”

*

The power stays on, at least long enough for them to undress each other and take each other in in a way they haven’t before. Bitty makes some self-deprecating remark about not being in shape like he used to be as he works his hoodie over his head, only to reveal an impressively toned set of abs that he clearly hasn’t been neglecting. Jack doesn’t neglect them either, leaving a trail of kisses from Bitty’s chest down to his boxer briefs as he works his way down.

“Wait,” Bitty says, shifting a little. Jack lifts his head, only a little annoyed to have been diverted from his goal once he sees the hunger in Bitty’s eyes. “I wanna see you first.”

Jack’s used to being looked at, but with Bitty’s attentive eyes and hands on him, it feels like this is the first time he’s been truly _seen_. Bitty looks at him like he’s memorizing the map of scars and stretch marks that a lifetime of hockey has left on his body, ghosts his lips over each one in just a whisper of a kiss. “So this is thirty,” Bitty whispers reverently, tracing the path of a silvery scar that stretches from the bottom of his ribcage to his hip.

“This is thirty,” Jack says. “Just imagine what this will look like 10 years from now,” he says, thinking of the scars and surgeries that are certainly in his future. He’s been pretty lucky, all things considered, but he knows his body won’t hold out forever.

“Beautiful,” Bitty declares, resting his head on Jack’s chest. “I love you. I love this body because it’s yours. I can’t wait to see what you look like 10 years from now,” he says, and it’s so honest that Jack can’t help but pull Bitty on top of him and kiss him again and again and again.

“I love you too, Bits,” Jack breathes between kisses. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

*

Jack is just pulling off of Bitty when the lights flicker twice and then cut out completely. It’s a minute before his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness, but Bitty’s right there, warm and solid beside him as they catch their breath.

“Well,” Bitty finally gasps, “I think we might have to upgrade you to Hurricane Jacques because I think you just blew the socks right off me.”

Jack presses a kiss to Bitty’s shoulder and smiles. “Definitely blew something, eh?”

“You’re terrible,” Bitty says fondly. “So terrible. First glow-in-the-dark condoms and now this.”

“You wanted this,” Jack reminds him. “Was it worth the wait?”

“I’d wait another five years for this,” Bitty says. “But I’m glad we don’t have to.”

There’s probably some alternate universe where the storm raging outside never happened and Jack and Bitty are enjoying a perfectly lovely dinner with their friends. Maybe by now Ransom and Holster would be roasting him for being the first to turn 30, or Bitty would be serving the cake. As disappointing as it is to have missed out on celebrating his birthday with his friends, this is infinitely better.

**2017**

It’s weird, Jack thinks the morning after Bitty graduates from Samwell, that this is the first time in nearly four years of friendship that they’ve woken up in the same bed. He could lie to himself and say that it’s only weird because years of friendship with Shitty have conditioned him to think it’s normal to wake up next to your best friend. But a little part of him calls him out, tells him the only reason it feels strange is because if anything, this moment is long overdue.

The moment itself is not sexy — last night Jack carried a very drunk Bitty to the bed after a very long day that included dinner with Bitty’s parents and grandmother and culminated with post-dinner partying with SMH members past and current, then collapsed next to him— but waking up next to Bitty is enough to ignite something in Jack that he’d prefer to ignore. He has a girlfriend and Bitty just broke up with Luc and is adamant that he wants to get settled in Providence before he starts dating; remembering both of those things, Jack quietly slips out of bed and takes a cold shower.

When he emerges from the en suite bathroom, Bitty is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. “Wha’d I drink last night?” he groans.

“I think Shitty was calling it Atomic Tub Juice.” Jack grimaces. He only had one cup to Bitty’s three, and it had been more than enough. “Do you need to throw up?”

“No.” Bitty inhales deeply and breathes out through his nose. “Just waiting for the room to stop spinning.”

“Well, you better hope it stops soon because you have breakfast with your parents in an hour.”

Bitty flops back onto the bed and covers his face with Jack’s pillow. “Right now death would be preferable.”

“Don’t die. I already cleared my things out of your bedroom.”

“I’ll die, and I’ll haunt you for making fun of me when I’m so fragile. You’ll be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

Jack pries the pillow off of Bitty’s face. “Fragile my ass. You just spent four years on a college hockey team. You’re not fragile, you’re just afraid of your mother seeing you like this. Get up, Bittle. You’ll feel better after you shower. If you hurry, I can drop you off on the way to the rink.”

“You’re not coming?” Bitty pouts.

Jack shakes his head. “I have a meeting with George. But I’ll be done by the time you’re done with breakfast and I’ll meet you at the Haus to get the rest of your stuff.”

“Mean,” Bitty accuses. “Making me deal with my parents in this condition. Okay, I’m gettin’ up.”

Jack bites back a smirk as his new roommate cautiously gets to his feet, swaying a little. “Ohhhh,” Bitty groans, looking a little green. “Do you think Mama’s going to know I have a hangover?”

“She will if you don’t shower,” Jack says, offering a hand to help him up. “You stink. Make sure you wash your hair, too.”

Bitty shuffles into the bathroom, pees, and starts the water for the shower before he pokes his head out, looking a little sheepish.

“Uh, I put my stuff in the other room, didn’t I?”

“I’ll get it,” Jack says, grateful for the distraction. He finds Bitty’s overnight duffel in the room that will be his and drops it on the bathroom floor. He avoids stealing a glance in the direction of the shower and instead calls, “Just use the towel on the rack,” from the doorway.

“You mean the one you just used? It’s gonna be all wet,” Bitty whines, and he sounds just pitiful enough that Jack goes out to the linen closet and find a clean towel for Bitty.

“You clean up nice,” Jack says when Bitty steps out of the bathroom, dressed in khaki shorts, a fitted navy blue polo shirt, and boat shoes. His hair, newly cut after having grown it out for playoffs, has been tamed into its familiar style. The only signs that he spent most of the night drinking are the dark circles under his eyes.

“Coffee?” Bitty asks hopefully.

“Already made.” There are two travel tumblers sitting on the kitchen counter, one with cream and sugar the way Bitty likes it.

“Bless you.” Bitty rises up on his toes and gives Jack a very chaste, friendly kiss on the cheek. It’s nothing. It’s normal.

“Got your back, Bits,” Jack says, steering him out the door and toward the kitchen. “I’ve always got your back.”

**2020**

The power is still out when Jack wakes on Sunday morning, but the rain and wind are at least a bit calmer than they were last night. A quick glance at the phone on his nightstand tells him it’s 5:30, still too early to be up, especially since it was well after midnight before he and Bitty actually got to sleep. After a brief rest they’d gone back for round two, then taken a much-needed shower — quite the feat in the dark. Then Bitty remembered Jack’s birthday cake was still on the counter, untouched, so he cut two slices and they ate by candlelight, Bitty only slightly grumpy that he’d forgotten to take a picture of Jack with the finished cake _before_ the power went out.

Last night had been all about the moment, discovering and pleasuring each other in equal measure. Today, Jack knows, they’ll have to talk about what this all means going forward.

“Jack?” Bitty murmurs. His body is so relaxed, his breathing so even, that Jack thinks he might be talking in his sleep.

“You awake?” Jack whispers into Bitty’s hair.

“Barely. You sure know how to wear a boy out, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“I could say the same about you, Bittle. We can go back to sleep.”

“If I had known,” Bitty says tartly, “that this was all it took to get you to sleep in, I would have started giving you blow jobs freshman year.”

Jesus. Jack recalls what an asshole he was to Bitty for the first part of that year and decides it might not have been a bad idea, though in the end might only have created more problems. He starts to tell Bitty, but he’s already out again, so he just concentrates on the way Bitty’s heart feels beating next to him, the way his chest rises and falls with each relaxed breath, until he also drifts off.

When Jack opens his eyes an hour later Bitty’s still asleep but he must somehow sense the shift in Jack’s state of consciousness because his eyes snap open within seconds. Jack huffs out a laugh. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Bitty grouses, frowning a bit. “Is my hair messed up? Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”

“No, no,” Jack insists. “You’re perfect.” He places a possessive hand on Bitty’s ass and gives it a little squeeze to prove his point.

“Well, so are you, even though you snore.” Bitty grins and dips his head closer to Jack's, wraps his arms around his waist. “Good morning.”

“Better than yesterday,” Jack says. They lie there, wrapped up in each other, until Jack decides there’s no better time to bring up the last lingering question he has about all of this. “Hey, Bits?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t want to go home alone.”

“What’re you talking about?” Bitty mumbles.

“When we go back to Providence tomorrow, come home with me.”

“Jack!” Bitty bolts upright, suddenly wide awake. “Jack, I need you to be very clear with me because it sounds like you’re asking me to move in.”

“I am.” Jack sits up and drags the blanket Bitty has dislodged over their laps, pulls Bitty close. “Move in with me. Again. But this time we won’t have separate rooms.”

“Man,” Bitty says, giggling. “That must’ve been some blow job if you’re suggesting we move in together. You think it’ll help your game?”

Actually, Jack considers, it might. But more significantly, he’s pretty sure just being able to come home to Bitty every night will help his game. Bitty is safety and security and home. Last night was fun and sexy and tender and a little dirty, everything Jack’s felt was missing with every other partner he’s had because none of them were his best friend. At some point during all of it he decided he wants to _marry_ Bitty, so the more he thinks about them continuing to live apart, the less sense it makes.

“Bits, you’re the best thing about me. You’ve been my best friend for years. And last night may be the first time we did those things, but none of it feels new to me. Does it to you? We already know each other so well that sex is ... just another part of it. If you want to take things slowly I won’t pressure you into moving in right away because it’s a decision we should make together. But I want you to know I’m not worried about it not working out between us. I think all of the other relationship stuff that takes time for most couples to figure out is something we’re already good at. Does that make sense?”

“We’re solid,” Bitty affirms. “We don’t need to spend weeks getting to know each other to know we like each other.”

“I mean, if you want to do that thing you’ve done with your other boyfriends where you make them try all your different pies so you can learn their favorite, I wouldn’t mind that part,” Jack says. Partially because he’s playing to his audience, partially because he was always jealous of Bitty’s ex-boyfriends when they entered that stage of the relationship.

“You want pie, huh? What are the odds that your favorite is maple-crusted apple?”

“Pretty high, but I might need to try the others just to be sure.”

Bitty sighs contentedly and relaxes against Jack’s chest. “I’m so glad I get to spend the rest of my life making pie for you.”

And there it is. They’re gone from best friends to lovers to planning the rest of their lives together in the span of a 12 hours — _if that_ — and it doesn’t feel like it’s too soon. If anything, it’s taken too long.

*

They eventually leave Jack’s — no, _their_ — bed and make their way to the kitchen, where Bitty laments not being able to make French toast until he realizes they have a perfect excuse to eat cake for breakfast. Or brunch, since it’s now closer to lunch than breakfast. They don’t even bother with dishes, just eat straight off the cake stand. When they’ve had their fill, Bitty sighs and says something about tackling last night’s dishes, which are still sitting on the kitchen table and in the sink. The chore takes longer than it should because they can’t go more than a few minutes without touching, or kissing, or just stopping to stare at each other in wonder like the lovesick fools they are. When the last dish has been dried and placed in the cabinet, Jack builds a fire in the fireplace while Bitty uses a match to light one of the gas burners on the stove so he can boil hot water for pour over coffee.

Even with limited resources, Bitty can somehow turn regular coffee into a treat. The coffee is rich and earthy with a hint of … “mint?” Jack guesses.

Bitty nods and tells him he tried it somewhere in California the last time he visited Chowder and Farmer. “They put mint leaves and a little bit of raw sugar right in the filter with the coffee grounds,” he explains. “It infuses the coffee with just a hint of flavor. I know you usually drink yours black, but I wanted to try something special.”

“We’re going to have to make this every time we come here,” Jack suggests. “Start a new tradition.”

“We can plant some mint next time we come down here,” Bitty says. “So we always have it on hand.”

They sip at their coffee and watch the fire, not feeling any particular need to talk, just enjoying being together. “You know,” Bitty finally says, “when people are first in love, they always say they feel like teenagers. But I don’t feel like a teenager. What does that even mean? I wasn’t in love with anybody when I was a teenager. I never even kissed a boy until I got to Samwell.”

“I don’t know.” Jack might have a leg up on Bitty in that regard but his teenage experiences are limited to awkward, drunk kisses with girls at parties and awkward, rushed hand jobs with Kent. Nothing that he’d classify as _love_. Certainly nothing that compares to what he feels for Bitty, a love that feels almost too big for his body to hold. “I wouldn’t say I had that either. And I kind of hated myself when I was a teenager, so.”

“Oh, honey.” Bitty places a bracing palm on Jack’s chest.

“I don’t anymore. Obviously. I just meant I can’t relate to most of that because I wasn’t in any shape to love myself, let alone somebody else. Maybe they just mean teenagers are really horny.”

“Hm. I can see that. Though it sounds more romantic when you call it ‘teenagers in love.’”

Jack laughs into Bitty’s neck. Somehow, he’s managed to turn the mood around and make it light again. Bitty’s always been able to do that, find those dark places inside him and, if not make them completely disappear, then make Jack feel less alone.

The rest of Sunday passes in a haze of sex, pie, board games, and more sex. Bitty texts his boss to let him know the storm has him stuck in Connecticut, and there’s no way he’ll make it to work tomorrow morning. They also text their friends to let them know the worst of the storm has passed and they’re safe, though they don’t divulge the way they’ve been passing the time. “Let Holster think I’m wiping the floor with you in Ticket to Ride,” Bitty snickers as he takes a picture of the board and sends it to the group. There will be hell to pay when their friends do find out, but for now it's fun to have this secret. (Though Jack suspects they all hoped his would happen if he and Bitty were given a little time alone. Convenient storm aside, he doesn't believe for a minute that Ransom and Holster were working late on a Friday in August.)

They take a two-hour nap in the middle of the day, waking in time to raid the pantry for dinner. Bitty pulls some mixed nuts, a box of crackers, and some dry salami out of the pantry and they eat by candlelight again.

It’s been a long time since Jack has spent a day being so decadently lazy, yet somehow he’s exhausted by the time Bitty suggests they go to bed. They lie together in the dark, fingers tangled loosely together, and make plans. Plans for the short term and plans for the long term. Bitty’s going to start moving his things over to Jack’s place as soon as they get back to Providence, but what Jack really wants, he confesses, is to buy a house. “Probably not until next summer,” he says, thinking out loud. “But maybe we can start looking at neighborhoods we like, keep an eye on the market.”

“It would be nice to live near Tater and Vanessa. The yards in their neighborhood are pretty big. We could have a dog, and a garden. And the schools in that neighborhood are good, too. You know,” Bitty says, suddenly sounding a little unsure, “if we ever have kids.”

They’ve never talked about it before, but everything is on the table now. “I want kids,” Jack says. “One or two for sure.”

“Me too,” Bitty agrees. “Though, maybe we should get married first.”

“Ha ha. I definitely want to marry you, Bits. I thought that was a given.”

“It’s a given, but I don’t mind hearing it again,” Bitty says.

“Marry me.”

“Okay,” Bitty says, like it’s the answer to the easiest question in the world. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and takes a quick selfie of them lying next to each other. “I know it’s a terrible picture, but I want to remember the moment you proposed,” he explains. “Oh!” he gasps, pointing at the time. 12:03 a.m. “ _bonne fête_ , sweetheart. Did I say that right?”

“Eh.” Jack smirks at Bitty’s terrible, and terribly endearing, pronunciation. “Points for trying.”

“You’re awful,” Bitty says, grinding a knuckle into the spot just above Jack’s hip. 

“Bittle, you spent _a whole summer_ working at a bakery in France. You never had a customer come in to celebrate a birthday?”

“At least I’m the first to wish you happy birthday.” Bitty sighs contentedly and snuggles closer.

“Yeah, about that,” Jack says, realizing he needs to warn his future husband about one of his parents’ favorite traditions, “we really should go to sleep. My parents are going to call really early.”

*

On the morning of his 30th birthday, Jack’s awakened at 5:22 a.m. by the ringtone that heralds a call from his parents. Normally he’d be up by now, not that it matters to his parents. They always call at the exact minute of Jack’s birth, as if waiting until a normal hour would be unforgivably belated.

“Maman. Papa,” Jack whispers, hoping Bitty will stay asleep. They immediately begin singing, Alicia’s English alto and Bob’s baritone French colliding in horribly out of sync, dueling versions of their respective countries’ birthday songs.

“Amazing. You’ve outdone yourselves this year,” Jack says, voice lowered.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Alicia says. “How is it possible my baby is 30 when I’m only 29 myself?”

“It’s a mystery.” Jack smiles in spite of himself.

“What was that? You need to speak up! Is the connection bad?” Bob asks.

“No, I’m at the beach house.”

“The beach house?” his father asks in alarm. “Isn’t that where that storm is? Everything okay?”

“Yes, Papa, everything is fine. I’m here with Bittle. We’ve been here since Friday.”

“Oh, Bittle. Tell him hi for us. You’re being safe?”

“We got here on Friday afternoon before things got really bad and we haven’t left.”

“You haven’t left, eh?” There’s no mistaking the chirp lurking beneath the surface.

“Papa,” Jack protests.

“Nothing wrong with an excuse to stay in. When your mother and I started dating we couldn’t get enough of each other. Spent a fortune on a suite at the Four Seasons and didn’t leave the room all weekend.”

“Bobby! Jack doesn’t want to know about that.”

Jack very much does not want to know about that. He prays his father will find another topic before he has to hear more details about his parents’ sex life.

“I’m just saying, it sounds like he finally made that shot. Took him long enough.”

“I’m not talking about this with you now,” Jack says, knowing anything short of an outright denial is as good as confirmation that what Bob thinks is happening is happening. It would be easy to appease his father and tell him yeah, Bitty is in his bed right now, but he wants to keep it to himself just a little while longer. Pretty soon everybody will know, not just their inner circle of friends and family but fans and followers and reporters. He wants this weekend to stay theirs.

“Ignore your father,” Alicia says. “We love you. And,” she adds, lowering her voice like Bitty might be able to hear her, “we love Eric, too. I’m glad he’s with you to celebrate your special day.”

Feeling as though he has his parents’ blessing, Jack hangs up and rolls back toward Bitty, spooning himself around him and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

“Hi, birthday boy,” Bitty whispers.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Jack apologizes. “My parents like to be the first to wish me happy birthday. It’s a point of pride. Or they just like being annoying little shits. I can never decide.”

“I like your parents.”

“They like you. They made that very clear.”

“Oh?”

Jack stretches out, hooking his leg around Bitty’s. “I didn’t say anything, but they guessed about us.”

Bittle chuckles. “Well, of course they did. You don’t normally sound this happy at five in the morning.”

Jack lets that sink in as Bitty turns back toward him and buries his face his Jack’s chest. “I’m happy,” he protests.

“You’re a grump in the morning until you’ve had your coffee. But I guess morning sex will do it, too.”

“Coffee sounds good,” Jack says, and just like that Bitty’s rolling away from him, halfway out of bed when Jack hooks a finger in the waistband of his boxers and pulls him back. “I can wait for coffee, though,” he says, rolling onto Bitty and pinning him to the bed.

“Get off me, you moose,” Bitty grunts, pushing at Jack until he relents and rolls off of him. “So physical and handsy. Wait, is that why you liked checking practice so much? Was that like … some sort of sexual release for you?”

“Ugh,” Jack groans, realizing his body figured this out years ahead of his brain. “Yeah, probably. Only because it was you. It’s not like that with everybody.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Bitty says. He kisses Jack’s shoulder, his neck, his cheek, the shell of his ear. “Coffee can wait," he whispers. "Right now we have a birthday to celebrate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for bearing with me while I finished up this fic, even though I didn't quite finish in time for Jack's real birthday. Regardless, I loved participating in the [Jack Zimmermann Turns 30 challenge](http://jackzimmermannturns30.tumblr.com)and have to thank [PorcupineGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcupineGirl/pseuds/PorcupineGirl) for organizing it and being flexible with the deadline. 
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments and kudos! I read and love every single one, even if I can't reply to each personally.


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